


Be One Flesh

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa/Lucius PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be One Flesh

Lucius sprawls naked on his bed, skin translucent and nearly gleaming against the rich green of the sheets. His hands are white knuckled around an ornately carved slat in the ebony headboard. Narcissa hasn’t bound them. She has no need.

Narcissa takes down her hair, black ribbon unwinding from her coiled braids like a living thing, like a snake curling in on itself. Lucius cannot help a small shiver of desire at the sight of that ribbon wrapped around Narcissa’s wrist and pooled on the floor at her bare feet. Narcissa is otherwise dressed, draped in tissue thin layers of immaculately white gauze that do little to conceal her form. Lucius can see the hard pink points of her nipples beneath the cloth and that evidence of his wife’s desire fills his belly with growing heat. He is laid bare before her, the pale lines of his body made open only for her, his cock hard and aching for her touch. 

Narcissa kisses him, her clever little tongue licking into his mouth, her sharp teeth biting down on his bottom lip, over and over again until Lucius is panting. She slides down his body with a liquid glide of her nightclothes on his skin, her hair skimming across his chest like moonlight on snow. Narcissa pauses between his legs, her mouth so close he can feel the wet heat of her breath on his cock. Lucius trembles. He watches as she circles the ribbon around his cock and down lower around his balls, binding him tightly, perfectly, so that all his want is centered in the flesh throbbing against this satin prison. 

Only now does Narcissa touch him. She grips his cock over its ribbon corset, drags a thumb through the moisture at its tip, and scratches her nails lightly across his balls. Then she leans forward and takes the head of his cock in her mouth—only the head. She does not suck him. Not yet. Instead Narcissa licks him, sweet swipes of her tongue against the flared lip, delicate laps at the slit, almost imperceptible strokes of her lips across its blunt end. When Lucius can no longer hold his hips flat against the bed, when he finally moans—a low and pained sound he barely recognizes as belonging to himself—Narcissa leaves the bed.

The house elves have placed a silver tea service in the breakfast nook and Narcissa pours herself a cup and watches Lucius as she drinks. Lucius knows what she sees. He can see for himself in the enormous mirror opposite their bed. Narcissa watches him roll his hips ineffectually against the air, his cock an angry red line curving toward his belly, his balls already starting to swell. His lips are red where she has bitten them and the expression on his face is desperate, wanton. When she has finished her tea, Narcissa kneels between Lucius’s legs again and her mouth on his balls is unbearably and deliciously warm. She drags his thighs wide in her hands, seeking out his secret places with her mouth, twisting her tongue into the dark of him. Narcissa tortures Lucius in this way for quite some time, alternating teasing licks up the crease of his ass with moments of all too brief suction on his cock.

Lucius feels fragmented, as if he is slowly unraveling. His head lolls to the side and Lucius notices his cane resting atop his robes on the dressing table. He remembers with a shiver its swift percussion on his skin, his ass growing warmer and redder with each stroke. Narcissa loves that game best and he has not lately indulged her. Perhaps later this night, Lucius will remind her.

Once again, as Lucius’s pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, Narcissa withdraws. She stands at the foot of the bed and disrobes, the skin she uncovers flushed and damp with desire. Their chamber is filled with silver coffers of white roses, and now Narcissa plucks one from an arrangement and draws its soft petals across her body. She leans over Lucius, her breasts heavy and full, and he sucks a nipple into his mouth, uses his teeth on that tender flesh, skirting the sweet line between pleasure and pain. Narcissa’s breath catches, and she throws her head back, baring her throat. She pulls away from Lucius and strokes the rose over her swollen nipples and then lower, between her legs and behind the pale thatch of hair to where Lucius cannot see.

She straddles him carefully, offering herself up to his mouth and Lucius takes. Narcissa is already wet and his tongue moves fluidly over her clit. She grinds herself into his mouth, moaning, her fingers busily pinching her nipples. After she comes, Narcissa slides back down between Lucius’s legs. She slips two fingers into herself and then presses them into Lucius with her own slickness. Her fingers are still for a long moment, Lucius clenching himself around them, and then she moves, the slowest fuck of her hand, until Lucius is begging for release.

Finally, finally, Narcissa unlaces his cock, the satin ribbon unspooling in a graceful arc across his thighs. She lowers herself onto him and in that instant, the pain of gratification deferred is exquisite. Lucius still cannot remove his hands from the headboard and so his body accepts the interminable pace Narcissa sets for them. Although he desperately wants to, Lucius will not give himself over to his pleasure until Narcissa takes her own and so he waits, relishing the tight heat of her, the strong thrust of her hips, the unbearable friction. When Narcissa shudders around him, Lucius gasps raggedly and comes, his orgasm excruciatingly delightful, a beautiful mixture of agony and pleasurable intensity.

Before she pulls away, Narcissa lifts Lucius’s arm from the headboard and presses a kiss to the Mark on his wrist, a gentle benediction of lips. Lucius can hardly bear this moment of invocation, if indeed that is what Narcissa intends; he has never asked his wife what she means by this gesture or told her that he’d rather her absolution than her blessing. They both know better than to speak such things aloud, even here in the Manor. Narcissa’s kiss is his permission to let go, a curtain falling between who they are in this chamber and who they will be once they leave it. Lucius lets go and holds his wife with both arms; he can hear the house elves in the next room drawing them both a bath.


End file.
